


Episode tag to 2x05

by CommanderBunnBunn



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s02e05 Skull + Electromagnet, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Hurt Jack, Hurt/Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26691940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderBunnBunn/pseuds/CommanderBunnBunn
Summary: More really clever title work here.For the September Macgyver Whump challenge. Day 3 and 4. Takes place immediately after the mission but before Halloween. I filled in that gap.
Relationships: Wilt Bozer & Jack Dalton & Riley Davis & Angus MacGyver
Comments: 19
Kudos: 29





	Episode tag to 2x05

The Phoenix jet arrived to take the team home. The wayward soldiers had commandeered the plane the team had arrived in the day before. Jack didn’t actually mind waiting a little longer to leave if it meant a more comfortable and homey ride back. 

His shoulder and back had been screaming at him after the adrenaline had worn off, but luckily Jack kept a little extra help in the trauma strapped to the back of his TAC vest. Unsure which injury or surgery it was leftover from, Jack kept that one super mega dose tablet of oxycodone hidden in the fingertip of a latex glove that had been snipped off and tied shut. Of course he could go with the Phoenix issued morphine auto-injector, but it wasn’t as discrete. Jack preferred to hide his injuries from his team. He’d always assumed he’d finally pop that pill when he was mortally wounded and wanted to make his own passing less painful, to fade out strong in Mac’s arms, cracking jokes to the bitter end instead of suffering and screaming pathetically in pain. 

Lucky for Jack, it was _just_ a bullet through the shoulder, his right shoulder that worked his shooting/writing/drinking/jerking off hand, and he hadn’t been able to use that hand in hours much less lift or move his arm. Just a bullet through the shoulder, and probably a broken ankle from after the fall when he tried to scurry away. At the very least a twisted ankle. 

Just a bullet through the shoulder and a twisted ankle...and a back injury. The fall from the cliff was a long one, and he landed on his butt, well sideways on his butt, jarring his hip and spine for the second time that day, causing him to walk off kilter which is why he sprained that ankle in his awkward and unsure gait. 

A bullet through the shoulder, a busted ankle, a back injury, and was he old enough to break his hip? There was a girl at the Phoenix that shattered her pelvis jumping… actually falling out of a helicopter, and that wasn’t nearly as far as he fell, and she was younger. Maybe a broken hip? Nah, not a broken hip, but definitely some badass bruises.

So he felt justified in taking the pill even though he wasn’t dying. No one had to know he was drugged, he was just being his goofy self. Except the drugs were wearing off. And he had to pee.

They’d been in the air for all of 20 minutes, and Mac asked for the fifth time if he could check on Jack’s shoulder. It had clotted and stopped bleeding on its own long ago and he didn’t want anyone poking around in there and making it bleed again. Jack rotated himself in the chair to turn his back to mac and pulled the small blanket up to his chin to try to get a little sleep before the drugs wore off completely. They’d not slept all night and he rather enjoyed sleeping in the jet. 

The hole in the back of Jack’s shirt from the exit wound was taunting Mac once Jack turned to ignore him for a nap. He really needed to check it out because Jack hadn’t let anyone help him dress it or look at it. While Jack was snoring lightly, the opportunity presented itself to Mac and he took it.

Jack felt a presence behind him. The blanket didn’t cover any of his back at all once he had turned toward the window. He knew what Mac was going to try to do, which was precisely why Jack was playing possum in the first place.

Mac lightly fingered the blanket, and Jack snapped back, “Ain’t broke, don’t fix.” 

“Sorry, man.” Mac dropped the blanket and put his hands up in surrender, “I was just pulling the blanket up. I can see your ass crack and didn’t want to offend Cage. Plus it’s not like you could use your currently useless arm to tuck yourself in.”

“Point taken, carry on.” Jack closed his eyes and tucked his knees into his chest to get cozy.

Mac gently pulled the blanket up and over Jack’s injured shoulder, but not before tilting his head in every possible direction to try to get a look at the wound. Jack was snoring for real before Mac sat back down.

He slept for what could have been 5 minutes or could have been 5 hours, he wasn’t sure, but the urge to pee woke him up. He grumbled to himself something about being old and walnut bladder as he situated himself back upright in the chair. When he was 20 he could hold it for an entire day! He didn’t have time for this nonsense. 

He steeled himself to prepare for the walk back to the bathroom. Past Mac and Riley, past Bozer and Cage, all without letting on that he was hurting, show them youngins the old man can hold his own...just not his pee. 

The act of sitting up caused pain to shoot through his joints and fire to burn through his shoulder. The edges of his vision blackened for a moment, but he managed to shake it off. Wouldn’t want to pass out and pee his pants, that would be the MOST embarrassing. Walk casually, not too much weight on the good leg, they’d know he was limping. He couldn’t use his arm to take weight off the ankle because it was on his currently useless right side. The not-limping sent bolts of lightning from his ankle up his leg and he almost almost lost his balance. No one saw his little waver. They all seemed to be absorbed in what was on their phones or other electronic devices, and for once, he was grateful for that.

Jack made it to the bathroom and shut the folding door as he turned around plopped onto the toilet lid with absolutely no grace. He figured he could stand back up and prop a knee up on the side of the bowl while he peed to take some weight off the ankle. On second thought, that would put all the weight onto the bruised hip. He may as well sit, except he was already sitting on the closed lid and had to get up to open it.

Sucking in a big breath, he held it in and stood up, letting the breath out in a small concentrated stream as he lifted the toilet lid. Right before he sat back down, he realized the pants conundrum. How was he supposed to get his pants undone with one hand, much less pull them down and back up again? And these were the pants with all buttons instead of a zipper. If he could undo just one of the four buttons, he could probably get his dick at least partially out of that opening and relieve himself without making too much of a mess.

Success! He shoved it back into his pants and then his underwear and folded the fly back over the opening without buttoning it back up, no one would be the wiser. He grabbed a towel to clean up the sprinkle he’d left on the seat. Apparently he’d stood for too long because as soon as he tipped forward to wipe the seat, he got very dizzy. He instinctively put his arms out against both walls in the tiny room to steady himself, and that was a mistake. 

The movement had ripped open both the entry and exit wounds, and pain in his shoulder made him see stars. He’d had enough forethought not to take a header into the unflushed toilet and fell backward against the door with a thud, out cold. 

“Hey Bozer,” Cage asked, “Jack’s been in the bathroom an awful long time. Do you think someone should go check on him?”

“Oh no. Definitely not.” Bozer motioned his arms in an “x” shape like a referee. “Jack has this thing he likes to do, a post-mission shit. We’ve asked him to stop doing it and started sneaking him bran muffins the day before scheduled missions so he doesn’t get that coming down from fight or flight bowel release on the plane home anymore. But this trip was very spur of the moment, and we didn’t get the chance.”

“Oh I see.” she nodded and pursed her lips, “and I’m sorry I asked.” 

Bozer went back to his phone game and hoped that Jack remembered to spray the botanical stuff into the toilet before he went. 

Riley pulled her headphones off one ear and leaned toward Jack's seat in front of her, "hey Jack, what's the name of that dumb song you used to sing while you were cooking sometimes? I have part of the hook stuck in my head, and I can't for the life of me figure out what it is, and I can’t search using the lyrics because you just made up your own words about what you were cooking." When she didn't get an answer, she peeked her head into the seat. 

Mac was sleeping lightly in the next seat, but Bozer noticed Riley's movements. Bozer explained loudly over the music in his ear buds, "he's in the bathroom." 

She looked at him, "still?" She asked in a shrill voice? "Bozer, he got up nearly an hour ago." She shoved her laptop onto the floor and dropped her headphones on top of it as she bolted out of her seat toward the back of the plane. 

The door was locked with the red "occupied" tab displayed but bulging out slightly near the bottom. She knocked three times in quick succession, trying not to sound panicked, "Jack? Did you fall in?" Because that was the go to dad query for someone who'd been in the can for too long. But she didn't get an answer. "Did your legs fall asleep and you're too embarrassed about it to ask for help?" She frowned and bit her bottom lip knocking again. "OK, I'm coming in if you don't answer me."

She grabbed the magnetic key for the bathroom door and unlocked it. She tried to fold the doors, but they wouldn't budge. She pushed and pulled harder from either side of the door, but it was stuck on something. "Can somebody give me a hand?" She called out to no one in particular, but the other 3 were by her in seconds.

Mac knocked and called out while trying to shove the door open, as if his result would have been any different from Riley's. He still had to try. Mac ran his fingers along the door's frame to find an alternative entry point, he pulled out his knife and Bozer, always the voice of reason, asked, "are you sure he didn't come out and go sit somewhere else? You know, before you tear the door off the bathroom we all use at some point on the plane we fly in all the time."

Cage piped in, "I'll check up front. Riley, check in the back." 

He pulled the plastic trim away from the door frame and made quick work of the bolts holding it on. Bozer and Mac each found a spot to grip the door and lifted it an inch to disengage the hinges. They took a step back with the door and Jack spilled out onto the aisle from the doorway. 

Riley gasped in horror and fell to her knees next to him immediately. There was a significant amount of blood streaked down the inside of the door, and his black shirt was shimmering with fresh blood.

She cupped his cheek with her hand, “what are you doing you big dumb idiot?” 

Mac took Jack’s right wrist to check his pulse, but he wasn’t sure if he was counting his own or Jack’s or both. He moved his hand to Jack’s neck and everyone stared silently at Mac’s fingers as he counted in his head. “It’s good; it’s strong. A little faster than normal, but it’s good.” Mac was grateful they were looking at his hands and not his lying face. While he was confident that Jack was ok, he’d bounced back from much worse, he did harbor some worry in the pit of his stomach because Jack was clearly hiding something from them that he didn’t want them to worry about.

Instructing Bozer and Cage, Mac and the team moved Jack to the open area of the plane using the detached bathroom door as a litter. Riley pulled the giant first aid basket out of the supply closet, buried behind the boxes of coffee creamer and tiny bags of Doritos-where they keep the important supplies. It had been a while since they needed the bigger med kit, and that made her nervous. The exfil rule of thumb was ‘Band-Aids or Benadryl? You’re with exfil. Can’t walk back? You get MedEvac.’ 

When she returned to the rest of the team, Mac and Samantha were lifting him onto the couch after Bozer thoughtfully laid out a blanket under him to keep his skin from sticking to the vinyl seat. Mac cut away Jack’s shirt from the collar to his armpit to finally dress the wound that had taunted him since the night before. Moving Jack had undone the clotting that happened while he was down, and it was flowing freely once again. 

Mac repositioned himself to the side of the airplane’s sofa, above Jack’s head. When they propped the injured shoulder up using a pillow tucked behind his back, he whimpered. Riley apologized and moved to sit on the floor directly in front of Jack. She stroked his cheek with her thumb to try to ease the pain that was about to come. 

Bozer stood to the side providing Mac with whatever he asked for from the kit. Cage waited by his legs in case Jack fought back. Cleaning it roused him a little; Riley held his hands together and tried to soothe him as they doused the area with cold saline while he squirmed and huffed. 

It was when Mac pressed both sides of Jack’s’ bullet hole together with his hands that Jack yelled and bucked up. All the barriers that usually prevented Jack from admitting he was injured had crumbled away; he liked to complain about being injured at work, but that’s how you knew it wasn’t bad. If Jack’s bitching and moaning about something, it’s fine. This was a raw unfiltered reaction.

Samantha wrapped her arms around his ankles to hold him still, and he screamed. It was a sound most of them had never heard before. Tears slipped from his eyes and Riley could barely handle it. She yelled his name and steadied his head between her hands, hoping for any sign of lucidity or recognition. His hands balled into tight fists against his abdomen, elbows tucked into his side as he screamed until he passed out again.

She felt a twinge of guilt for being relieved once he stopped screaming and wiped her own tears with her sleeve before catching his with her thumb to sweep the evidence away. 

“Guys,” Cage drew Mac’s attention, he was still applying firm pressure while Bozer wove a bandage repeatedly across that shoulder. “This ankle is swollen, do you have an ice pack in that kit?” 

Bozer slid the basket across the floor with a kick. It was intercepted by Riley who retrieved an ice pack and a roll of elastic wrap to assist Samantha. By the time they’d iced and compressed the ankle, the boys were also satisfied with their dressing. 

Mac sat at the end of the sofa with his head in his hands, disappointed in himself that he hadn’t pressed harder to check up on Jack. Of course Jack wouldn’t have let him regardless, but that didn't take ease any of the guilt. In hindsight, Mac probably could have taken him, which made him feel worse. 

Frazzled and upset by the unpleasant new experience, Bozer took his seat. He was haunted by the agonized screams of the toughest guy he knew replaying over and over in his head. Bozer popped his earbuds in and turned up the volume on whatever song popped up first on his playlist, he didn't care if it was Inuit Throat Singing or Slim Whitman or Rihanna, he had to overpower the memory of that sound.

Riley sat on the floor leaning against the sofa and took Jack's hand. She absently examined it and every single pink scar that contrasted with his tanned skin, rubbing her thumb gently across every mark. Tiny knicks and scratches, old jagged lines stitched in haste, dry skin from blisters nearly healed, calloused spots, pale negative space where a big-ass ring usually sits, and unexpectedly soft palms. She slid her thumb down every digit, delighted by the clean and well manicured nails. She smiled at the thought that that could be partially...mostly her fault. He'd make her an offer she couldn't refuse- he'd take her to get her nails done, as long as he got to tag along. He rather enjoyed the pampering and Diane really liked his clean nail beds and soft cuticles. 

She curled her fingers around his with a gentle squeeze, and he squeezed back. "Jack, are you coming back?" She smiled as his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion or pain or most likely both. "Hey." She cooed and he responded with an extended pained moan. “Did you groan?” She asked.

He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and smiled a groggy smile back. “Yeah. I did.” he admitted.

"Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything." 

"No, sweetheart, there's no fixing this." 

Her inquisition gathered momentum, "where does it hurt, besides the obvious? And when did you sprain your ankle? Why didn’t you tell us?"

"I fell through the floor, then off a cliff, and _then_ I sprained my ankle."

"You what?" Her eyebrows raised in shock. His face tensed up as he tried to readjust and get comfortable to no avail, breath hitching at the stabbing pain of moving his back. “Where are you trying to go?”

He pointed at his left side and she saw a little skin peeking out just above his belt, it was turning purple. Soft and apologetic, she whispered, “Jack?” before tugging at the shirt to get a better look. “This is terrible.” She followed the bruise with her eyes up to his ribs and back down to where it disappeared into his pants. "How far down does it go?"

"I dunno, I didn't look. I shimmied into these skintight pants yesterday, and I got one working arm. There's no way they're coming off without a fight now." He smiled weakly and gritted his teeth to breathe through the next wave of pain. "I landed kinda on my back on this side, on some rocks." He patted the side of his left thigh and gasped, "and that holster."

"You sure there's not more you're hiding? Maybe a punctured lung or a concussion?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Just banged up." He closed his eyes and focused on breathing through it again. 

"Do you want to lie on your belly, take some pressure off the bruises?" She pulled his shirt back down

"Sure," he answered apprehensively.

She stood and held a hand out to help him roll over. He grunted and yelped many times in his attempt to get repositioned. 

"Is that better?" She asked after he was finally lying prone on the seat. 

"No." His cheek was smooshed against the cushion making his gravelly response endearing, almost cute, "but it's not worth moving again."

"I'm sorry." She flashed him a smile of pity and concern. "I'm really worried about you." She lifted his shirt again and cringed at his back mottled with forming bruises. The TAC vest helped distribute some of the impact, but the equipment strapped to the MOLLE still left large bruises to the point where she worried about internal injuries.

"I'm ok, baby. For real. Just gonna hurt for a while. Maybe stay horizontal for a few days. Ice packs, ibuprofen, Netflix."

"I still don't believe you." She rubbed her hand in a circle over his soft stubble of a haircut and he visibly relaxed with a sigh like a satiated puppy.

"At least there's no concussion this time." He mentioned with the slightest start of a laugh and groaned when the movement sent spikes of pain through his body again.

"I think there's one of those military morphine auto injectors in the big first aid kit, you want to use it? It's breaking my heart to see you in pain like this." She was expecting him to say no and play the tough guy card. 

He cringed again and looked up at her, his dark eyes hazy and full of fondness, "Yeah." 

"Bicep or butt?" She asked as she fished it out of the kit.

"Tricep, not bicep." Mac corrected. 

Jack's face lit up and he drawled out his vowels, "Hey Mac." He tried to move his head towards Mac's voice and realized it was a terrible idea. 

"I'm right here, big guy." Mac placed his hand on Jack's good shoulder and gave it a squeeze. 

Riley pressed the auto injector into the back of his arm while he was distracted, and got a curt "ouch" out of him for her deception. She massaged his scalp with her nails as a peace offering, and he melted again under her touch. 

Once she was sure he was finally relaxed enough to be asleep, she covered him to his chin with the soft gingham quilt she kept on the plane. Riley kissed his temple and took the seat next to the sofa for the last 5 hours of the flight home. 

*****

At home, Jack was cleared to leave medical after one night, some stitches, an air cast, and a cumbersome back brace. Cumbersome wasn’t even the right word for it. It was a molded piece of metal, plastic and foam, specially fitted to Jack that had to be put on and removed with a set of bolts by someone else. He was required to wear it all the time, sleeping and awake, except to shower until November, at which time they’d do more imaging and let him taper down to wearing it just at night. Jack was surprisingly willing to comply with his doctor's orders; it was better than being permanently sidelined with a broken back...two cracked vertebrae, but he liked to play it up since he couldn’t hide it from anyone while wearing that monstrosity.

Bullet holes happened all the time, they were old hat for Jack. But how often does he get to brag about breaking his back on a mission in the Bermuda Triangle. Of course he was miserable and in some pain all of the time, but he also opted for the good drugs for once. He stayed with Mac and Bozer mostly because he was loopy for the first 10 days, but also because his mobility was slightly inhibited and he also couldn’t get the brace off and on by himself. 

Jack had jokes, lots of jokes. He had a good sense of humor about his brace that no one else would touch until he made them first-Cyborg, Robocop, Six-million dollar man, Tin Woodsman. The good to come of the situation was the accidental costume idea. They planned the entire Wizard of Oz costume motif around the Tin Man costume- ideal to conceal Jack’s brace and not be uncomfortably heavy. Mac being the good friend and wizard that he was, managed to install a fan in the chest as well to keep it cool. The others embraced appropriate costumes to go with the theme and they had a delightful Halloween despite their little Bermuda Triangle snafu.

**Author's Note:**

> excuse the errors, I just kind of rushed this


End file.
